


I'm Not Blushing, It Just Does That.

by MercuryMapleKey



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryMapleKey/pseuds/MercuryMapleKey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He was clinging desperately to an idiot more self-aware than he was. Frag if this wasn’t the slagging most awkward thing."</p><p>Wasp finds himself in a bout of intense denial in regards to his feelings towards a certain orange autobot when their constant competitions start to get the better of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Blushing, It Just Does That.

Like anything else between them, it had started with a stupid competition. It had started with Wasp trying, without success, to land a single damaging hit on Ironhide’s tough chassis. First with his fists, then with his stingers, which actually seemed to be even less effective against the orange mech. Sort of.

“Heheh, that tickles. Is that what you were going for?”

So the oil-stain wanted to play rough did he? Well he’d give him something to laugh about. Launching around the other, Wasp used his momentum and his stingers to get some air and landed a solid kick to Ironhide’s chestplate with both pedes. It was a speedy maneuver that was devastatingly effective. At least it would have been if he hadn’t been going up against a bot who was virtually invincible. As it was he just sort of bounced off the silver armour, probably would have landed flat on his aft too – slagging humiliating – if Ironhide hadn’t reached out an arm to steady him. He grabbed him under the shoulderplate, along the thin, lime green side plating; and that _did_ tickle.

Leaping back as if he had been bit and remembering belatedly to keep his cool Wasp looked back at Ironhide with one optic quirked. Ironhide just smirked, and that was not the intended result.

“Is that all you got?” Ironhide shook his bright orange helm, “Pretty weak.”

“Blow it out your actuator!” He reared up for another punch to the strong bot’s chassis – a show of defiance rather than anything he’d actually think would work – but instead of letting the blows bounce off him and smirking like he usually did, Ironhide was grabbing him under the shoulderplate again and holding him back. Slag! Wasp tore himself away from the others servos at lightning speed; that really did tickle.

Now Ironhide was staring at Wasp quizzically and the minibot could see the gears in his head starting to turn for once in his lifecycle. Cocking his helm defiantly, Wasp tried his best to sound like they both didn’t know what had just happened.

“Get your servos off me.”

Ironhide laughed his low chuckle. “Why?” He dipped a servo down to touch the sensitive plating once more. Wasp practically jumped a foot in the air, and slag that was embarrassing.

“Buzz off!”

All he got for his efforts was more laughter. Bug jokes were prime comedy for the orange mech and had been since Wasp had gotten his name. The minibot could almost feel his CPU stalling with the stupidity of the situation. He executed his best deadpan glare and a few generic insults at the tough bot before stalking off to train on something not quite so infuriating. Ironhide wasn’t going to leave him alone about this; he could feel it.

The next time Ironhide came around, Wasp wasn’t giving him any chances. He slammed his locker door shut loudly as soon as the other lifted his servos.

“Knock it off, ya big piston rod.”

Wasp ignored the comment Ironhide made about having a big piston rod in favour of wriggling away from the other bots servos. Mech had the worst comebacks and one-liners anyways; a regular cheese-fest. He was strong though, and big, and had Wasp relatively cornered. It’s not like the big mech was particularly quiet or anything; he had heard him approach. Bringing his gaze up from his locker door Wasp quirked his optics at Ironhide challenging the bot to make another move. Of course Ironhide did, and the green minibot launched himself to the side. He twisted into the open space between the wall and his locker only to trip on his own slagging stabilizing servo and go crashing into the mech he’d been trying to avoid. What a bumble. He sharply reminded himself that it was okay, no one else had _seen_ that. Except Ironhide, and that didn’t matter.

All at once he became aware of how very pressed flush against Ironhide he was. The bigger bot hadn’t moved so much as an inch in the momentum and Wasp as a result was practically draped over him. It was… so awkward. ‘Compromising’ was the first word his CPU offered as a description, and slag if _that_ didn’t make matters worse. The minibot’s first instinct was to backpedal as hard as he could; shove the other bot off, storm out, and zap things until he could wipe the stupid embarrassment off his faceplate. Ironhide reacted first. He placed two servos on Wasps shoulderplates, but instead of pushing him away – which would have been the normal and accepted thing to do – he was lifting him up, pulling the green bot to a stand and laughing that low chuckle that made anyone who didn’t know better assume he was an idiot. It’s what Wasp had assumed the first time they met. They were still abnormally close, but the minibot didn’t really see fit to move away.

He wasn’t sure what to do, shifting in his discomfort. And now Ironhide had a servo on his faceplate and apparently saw fit to do little else than just stare at him with some sort of wide optic’d wonder and giggle like a femmebot. A big, stupid femmebot.

“Heheh, you keep making that face.”

Wasp’s CPU stopped stalling long enough for him to register the bizarre comment. He pulled any other face.

“What are you talking about, glitchead?” He’d chosen a snarl; it was a personal favourite.

“That’s why I keep bugging you.” He admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. He was probably laughing about his dumb pun too. “You keep making this face and its…” he glanced up at the ceiling like he could find the word he was looking for up there. “Cute.”

Cute! Wasp spluttered indignantly, processor trying to construct a sentence around his own umbrage. His backstruts brought him up to his full height – still only up to the others midsection – and he glared Ironhide right in the optics.

“I am _not_ cute.”

“Sure you are.” Ironhide actually had the nerve to pat him on the shoulderplate and Wasp thought he was gonna blow a fuse. “You’re cute, I’m stupid; it’s no big deal.”

He… he didn’t know where to go with that either. He just stared back at the orange mech with something resembling regret becoming more apparent on his face with every klik; guiltier than he’d probably ever be in his lifecycle. Everyone thought Ironhide was stupid. Most of the time he thought Ironhide was stupid too and he was supposed to be his friend or something. It wasn’t often Wasp had a moment of self-observation, but when he did it usually left him with a bad feeling in his processor. His arms were still draped around Ironhide’s chassis and clutching at him from when he’d first fallen. He was clinging desperately to an idiot more self-aware than he was. Frag if this wasn’t the slagging most awkward thing. Ironhide didn’t seem to have a problem with not letting him go either. And it was times like this he really didn’t understand the mech. How could you come into a room and get all… all handsy with your fellow cadet and then say something like _that_ and not even bat an optic? Ironhide didn’t just have an iron finish; he was tough to the core.

And he was laughing again. And maybe he was wrong about everything.

Wasp corrected his expression to a frown. “Shut up!”

Ironhide leaned down. “Why don’t ya make me?”

“Is that a challenge?” Wasp pulled himself up a little higher on his stabilizing servos only inches away from the other’s helm. He was supporting almost all of his weight on the other bot again, but it’s not like it mattered in the face of smack-talk. This he could do; this he understood. “I don’t make slag, I—“

He didn’t get to finish that sentence. He didn’t get to finish it because Ironhide was kissing him. Sort of. But it only took a klik for Wasp to unhinge his mouthguard, and less time for Ironhide to capture his mouth properly again. It was sort of amazing, and he shut down the part of his programming that tried to tell him otherwise in favour of the feeling of lip components against his own. Because Ironhide was warm and this was nice, and he bet if he wasn’t otherwise occupied he’d probably be making that ‘cute’ face again so this was clearly the better option. It likely wasn’t the greatest kiss, but it was strong, and confident, and a little sloppy; definitely Ironhide. It was the best Wasp had ever had. He pulled the other bot down by the helm and felt servos land on his sides. Another klik had his internal cooling systems shuddering on. This was good.

It wasn’t too good he could ignore his programming forever. Eventually Wasp’s processor caught up with him and he pulled away with a start, optics wide. Someone had to do the thinking between the two of them. Of course, the only thoughts his useless processor could come up with at the moment lay along the lines of ‘awkward’, ‘what the slag?’ and ‘oh, Primus’. His servos were draped around the other’s helm and neck, his faceplate was stained with an energon blush, mouthguard hanging uselessly around his jaw, and somewhere along the line he’d pulled a leg up along Ironhide’s waist for leverage. This was so bad. It was also undoubtedly one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

Ironhide was silent; he wasn’t much of a speaker anyways, but he seemed content to let Wasp make the next call. Well that was infuriating because things were now well and above the realm of things Wasp knew how to handle. He balked. His stay-the-frag-away-from-me personality was great for making other bots do just that, but it wasn’t cut out for this kind of nonsense. It’s not like he was an unpopular bot, but he’d definitely be lying to himself if he said Ironhide wasn’t the first bot he’d actually felt comfortable around. He might even use the word friend. Hadn’t he already used that word?

After nearly a full cycle of tense deliberation, Wasp did what came most naturally to him; he pushed Ironhide away. Twisting out of the orange mech’s sturdy hold and snapping his mouthguard back into place.

“What are you glitching out?” He wouldn’t bring his helm up to meet the others optics; couldn’t deal with the reflected regret he might find there. Ironhide said nothing, but Wasp wasn’t about to give him the chance. Without as much as another word he was hurrying away, desperate to escape the air of discomfort that engulfed him. Atypical behavior; Wasp rarely backed down from others, but in this case he was so pathetically _unequipped_ for the situation.  He didn’t do intimacy. He didn’t even do friends if he could help it. He wasn’t programmed for it. And it didn’t matter how good the other had felt, or that a little part of his processor – or it could have been his spark but no fragging way he was admitting that – was kicking him for walking out.

Wheeling around a corner, he took a moment to focus his CPU and will his faceplate back to its normal shade of green. There were more important things he needed to concentrate on. Field tests were starting tomorrow, and that slagging yellow bumbler was sure to make it a real treat for everybody. He needed to be his best, couldn’t afford any distractions.

That was understandable, right? He couldn’t afford any distractions. Ironhide would get that. Maybe Ironhide would get everything else, too.

 He wasn’t stupid.


End file.
